Coming of Age

Chapter 1London, June 1815 Percy examined his reflection in the drawing room window in the bright morning sunlight, suspicious that his unblemished skin and clear sky-blue eyes might hold imperfections at closer inspection, or even the appearance of a dreaded wrinkle. When peering minutely, rather than feeling becalmed that all was perfection, there was still a nagging sensation that he had missed an obvious flaw. With a sigh, he mentally rehearsed his tasks for the day ahead without much enthusiasm. Percy should be elated that his sister Eustacia’s recent come out had been a marked success, despite the stain on the family name. He and his siblings had been dramatically declared to be illegitimate last autumn due to an earlier marriage his father had conveniently long-forgotten. Eustacia’s gentle sweetness and fresh prettiness had confirmed her modest entrée into society, but without Percy’s efforts behind the scenes beforehand and his active involvement throughout, her first Season may not have occurred at all, or been curtailed abruptly in disaster. The siblings, over five years apart, had grown close over the spring. Eustacia, biddable and shy, had clung to her worldly older brother for direction among a throng ranging from the avidly curious to the mildly hostile. She unquestioningly accepted his advice on every matter, from her choice of gowns to her selection of friends. Rather than being relieved of a filial burden now that she had returned to the family home, Percy missed Eustacia keenly. Not that he’d admit it aloud, but he had found purpose in having a younger sibling to watch over assiduously, however unexpected that might seem, given Percy was skilled at putting himself first. He had to admit that her complete reliance on his judgment made him resemble a better and more responsible person, a transition that some of his acquaintance might regard as a minor miracle. In her absence, he felt somewhat at a loss, especially as during the whirl of the Season, he had less leisure to dwell on how the family change of circumstances had permanently damaged his standing. Also, he did not trust either of his parents with the care of his three younger sisters, Eustacia at eighteen being the eldest, with barely a year each between Araminta and Phoebe. He was preoccupied with the girls languishing miserably over the summer months at Massingfield, the family estate in Sussex, and how the stigma of Sir Edgar and Lady Caroline’s reputations might affect the his sisters’ ongoing public acceptability. However, solving that complex social conundrum must wait for another day. Firstly, having sent a lavish bouquet to his Cousin Augusta, who had irreproachably hosted Eugenia for her stay in London, he must consolidate that with at least one cordial visit of thanks. Then he must call on Mrs. Dalrymple, a long-standing friend who had proved herself both generous and invaluable in making Eugenia’s first Season possible. Without her benign influence, tickets for Almack’s would not have magically appeared, and society hostesses would not have smiled tolerantly at the inclusion of the pair of Havillands at their parties or routs. If, in reciprocation, Percy was commandeered by his patroness to attend several dull end-of-Season gatherings to be ignored or sneered at by a number of those present, then that was a small price to pay. He gave another sigh. With all this unprecedented conscientiousness, it was no wonder he was as cross as crabs and had vented his spleen on the person he valued most dearly. His lover, Nathaniel Brooks, had been unfailingly reliable throughout the frenetic Season, bearing the brunt of Percy’s scattered attention and air of constant distraction as he squired his sister to a dizzying number of events. Percy could not have failed to accompany her, knowing that his presence shielded Eustacia from much petty spite. And now that the pressure is over, what did you do? He regarded his unruffled image as he heard the decided slam of the outer door. Nathan drops in during his busy morning to check on your welfare, and instead of showing gratitude, you know precisely how to stir him into a rage and make him storm out in a fury. One day, my lad, you will go too far, and then where will you be?